


In This Fog (My Ancestors Await Me)

by DefinitelyNotStraight



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Asexual Character, Fluff and Angst, Hair Braiding, M/M, Magic, Mutual Pining, Peter Lukas Being a Bastard, Pining, Protective Martin Blackwood, Sigils, Trans Martin Blackwood, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26989537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefinitelyNotStraight/pseuds/DefinitelyNotStraight
Summary: The Lonely loves witches. They taste of fear and loneliness and a solitude that comes from being hunted like animals.Maybe that's why it loves the taste of Martin so much.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 64





	In This Fog (My Ancestors Await Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Idk what this is. Not grammar checked or anything, might not even make sense.  
> Enjoy????

Martin Blackwood is ten years old when he sits at his granny's deathbed, with her hands clasping his with all the strength she has.  
He is openly sobbing, Granny was his world. She loves him, which he isn't sure he can say about his parents. Granny is the one who taught him to cook and to sew, and which flowers he can eat in the wild and which ones are dangerous.   
Granny is the only one who calls him Martin at this point of his life, his real name, the name his heart screams out when everyone else calls him Alice.   
A shaking, wrinkled hand untangled from his and presses something warm and metal into his palm. He glances down, watches how his granny's eyes shoot warily towards his mother, and he knows that his mother is not to know about this.   
He knows what this key is, she had shown him it a few times before. It opened the drawer in her bedroom that she kept her notebooks in. She always told him that they would be his once she is gone, that they would guide him where she couldn't anymore. He didn't know what was in them, but he knew it was precious to his grandmother, and important that he have them.   
She said that his mother would burn the books, and he wouldn't such a thing past his mother.   
The key in his palm made him cry harder, somehow having the key in his palm made it more real. His granny is dying.  
"You're going to save the world one day, Martin." She told him in a whisper, something she said so often that he almost believed her. But him, shy little Martin? Broken, deviant Alice? (That's not his name, his blood boils and screams that Martin is his name).   
He couldn't even save himself, how could he ever save the world?  
Her hand cupped his face, and she gave a watery smile. Then the hand dropped, and she made an exhale like she was deflating.   
A hand on his shoulder, his uncle James.   
"She's gone, Alice." He tells him and he shakes his head, shaking and sobbing because please please Granny don't leave him alone here with these people.   
He is coaxed away from Granny's body, given awkward hugs that feel wrong to him because they stroke hair that is too long, much too long for him and call him that cursed name that makes him feel dirty every single time it is uttered.  
Mother looks at him with eyes only a little softer than usual, considering her mother just died and she shows no emotion over it. She hands him his bag, and says it's time to go.  
"I need to go to the bathroom." He says with a pretty convincing squirm of discomfort, like he needed to pee. His mother rolls her eyes and nods, and he dashes upstairs in a house he knows better than his own but somehow feels like a stranger's house without his Granny in it.  
He enters the bathroom, flicks on the light so the hum goes through the house of the light system turning on. Then he absconded to his granny's room, to the drawer he has gazed upon curiously all his life and fits the key into it.  
The click it makes when it unlocks is satisfying, deep and thrums through him like a piece of himself clicking into place.  
He doesn't have long, so he empties the contents of the drawer into his bag and flees back to the bathroom.   
He really does have to pee now, so he does and flushes, before washing his hands with soap (granny's homemade soap, lavender and sage, he snags the mountain of fresh bars she had made the week before, and they join his bag too) and running down to his mum before she shouts at him. 

He forgets about the content of his bag for a few days, instead staring into space for hours that feel like minutes, gaping hole in his heart because Granny was dead and now he was alone.   
Now no one would call him Martin like he so wished he could be called.   
He remembers, one morning, after making his mum a cup of tea (she has so much milk in it, it makes him cringe, it's just milk and hot water really), and he scrambles his eggs quicker in order to hurry back to his room and see what Granny left him.   
He empties his bag, and stocks the soaps neatly in a wooden box which he puts on the shelf.   
He doesn't bother locking the door, mum never comes here. She just hollers at the top of her lungs when she wants something and then yells even louder when he isn't fast enough in doing it. She never visits his room, and he can't find it in himself to be sad about it.   
He loves his mum, sure, but she isn't a parent. The only parent he has is dead now, all he has now is himself and the people who are supposed to love him but neglect him.  
Because he searched it up in the library and leaving a ten year old to their own devices and making them cook, clean and do everything for themselves is neglect. Still, mum isn't actually here alot, she works long hours and disappears with guys for days, but she always leaves money for food and the bills are always paid, so he thinks of it as training for when he's an adult.  
Plus this way, mum won't know that all the change from the groceries is hidden in a jar in his room, saving it for the things he wants.   
He pulls out the drawer contents, and he spend the next few hours reading the notebooks in awe.  
Granny was a witch, and she thinks he will be too. In the pages are letters to him, explaining things and giving him ideas.  
Something really does click into place, and he devours the knowledge like a man starving, and everything falls slowly into perspective.   
His granny had been training him slowly, teaching him to garden and to harvest herbs, teaching him to sew and embroider if he decides he wants to stitch sigils into things, and how she taught him Irish Gaelic, like their ancestors had spoken.  
His eyes well when he gets to the pages about the Afterlife, and he hopes that his granny enjoys hers.   
There is also candles of multiple colours, needles and threads, and an empty journal.   
It was beautiful, leather bound and thicker than his arm, heavy in the best way in his arm.  
The only thing in it was a note from his granny, her scrawling writing across the first page.  
"Here your adventure begins, Little Witch. I love you and I'll always be watching over you. Remember; you'll save the world someday."  
He smiles for the first time in days, and picks up a pen.  
\-------------------------  
(18 years later)  
"Ow, shit!" Martin swore as something toppled from the archive shelf and collided painfully with his temple. It made him dizzy and from the way it stung, he assumed he was bleeding.  
"Fuck, shit! I'm sorry, Martin! Are you okay? Jesus, that's alot of blood." Tim rushed forward from the other side of the shelf.   
So he was the one who had knocked the thing over into his skull. Nice to know.   
He knew it was an accident but curses rose bitter on his tongue, and he had to swallow them down because he liked Tim, and he didn't want to harm him.   
"What is all the noise for? I'm trying to record statements." Jon's voice rang out, too loud, too close, and Martin's vision greyed a little around the edges.   
"Jon, shut up." Martin relaxes and almost falls at the sound of that voice. Sasha is his favourite coworker, she is calm and collected and she exudes power and peace. Her arms wrap around him when he starts to sway and his senses are filled by the scent of her mango body spray.   
He hears Jon's jaw snap shut, then he is pulled to sit down and he hears Jon gasp and Tim whimper a little in apology.   
"What happened? That's alot of blood." Jon asks, voice alot softer, and Martin hazily thinks that if Jon spoke like that about him all the time, he would find it so much easier to have the crush on him that he already does.  
"I was trying to reach the box on the top shelf, and it fell and hit Martin's temple when he was walking past to give you those follow ups you asked for." Tim explained quietly, and Martin groans because his head hurts.  
"I'm going to start cleaning the cut, okay? I don't think you need to go to hospital, but I should clean this and wrap it up." Sasha tell him, ever calm, and he nods. His eyes fall shut again when it makes him dizzy and he regrets the decision to nod.   
"I'll go make tea." Tim says, and Martin almost giggles at that because that is always his line when something goes wrong.  
Something presses against the cut and it stings like a bastard, but he almost becomes aware that Sasha is gently combing through his hair with her fingers to mop up all the blood, and she will soon find the braid he has in.  
It's tiny and hidden by the rest of his curls, but it's interwoven with a bright green ribbon embroidered with sigils, and he fears what his colleagues will say about it when they see it.   
Sasha brushes her fingers over it and pauses, before taking in the tension building within him.   
"I think I can do this better with a mirror at hand, so I'll finish it in the bathroom. Also, Martin looks queasy, I doubt you would be happy if he vomited in your archive." Sasha says to Jon, who Martin didn't even know was still there. There was an edge to her voice, a warning and a astonishment for how their boss treated Martin and he almost wept. God, he loves Sasha and how thoughtful she is.   
"Can I do anything to help?" Jon asks, the same soft voice, and it startles both Martin and Sasha enough that they look up at him incredulously. Jon meets Martin's hazy eyes and Martin sees guilt there for just a second, swirling in grey eyes with concern and a little fondness.  
Martin sort of want to cry, because his head hurts and he can't be entirely sure that he isn't delusional, because Jonathan Sims does not look fond - not of him.   
Sasha tells him to find some anti-nausea medicine and to bring the tea to them when Tim has finished it (because Lord knows, Tim can't be quiet if his life depended upon it), and Jon nods, looking pleased to be able to help somewhat.  
Sasha leads him gently into the mens bathroom, not even pausing to consider the women's, and helps him sit on the counter while she finishes cleaning the cut and sticking gauze to it.  
"Are you a witch, Martin?" She asked after a while, and Martin froze up like a statue. She stroked a hand over his cheek, like an older sister would, and it soothed him.  
"My college roommate was a witch too. She braided her hair with ribbons with sigils, and she froze up like you when someone touched them. Is it the same for you?" She asked, and Martin sighed in relief. She didn't sound like she hated him.   
"Yes." He told her, and she smiled at him.   
"It suits you." She says, and he beams. No one had complimented his craft before.   
Jon entered then, medicine and cup of tea in tow, and he spared them a smile. Martin looked away, unable to bear the sweetness of the smile that he knows will never be directed at him for anything other than guilt.   
Jon leaves, with a soft goodbye and an uncharacteristically gentle tone telling him to have tomorrow off in case he has a concussion, promising to talk to Elias for him.   
"Will you braid my hair for me? With the ribbons? The day you come back?" Sasha asks him, and he lights up inside like he hasn't since his Granny died.  
"Of course, Sash."   
\------------------  
He braids her hair every day, at the end of their shift in the archive, slowly gaining an audience of Tim.   
He does purple ribbons for Sasha, embroidered with white thread that asks for protection, peace and luck.   
When Tim timidly asks him to braid his, after he understands why he does it, Tim gets white ribbon with blue thread asking his goddess for luck, gentleness, protection and love.   
The one time that Jon joins in, under Tim's bullying (Martin hates him for that, because the man had found out about his hopeless crush and insisted it wasn't unrequited, and Martin now knows how soft the long locks of Jon's hair feels beneath his fingers), Martin pulls out a ribbon he loathes to admit he had already made for Jon, in hope that he could braid his hair like he so desperately wanted to.   
That ribbon is the one with the most sigils on it, a fact that Sasha and Tim love to tease him about afterwards. Red silken ribbon with yellow threading, asking for protection, luck, happiness, courage, stress relief, victory and blessings.   
Martin almost died when Jon went slack and relaxed as his hands combed through hair, and his weaving gained him the softest pleased sigh.   
Martin wanted to stay in that moment forever, and he felt infinitely more alone when he was done and Jon moved away to record more statements.   
Sasha had invited him over that night, and he spent the night braiding her hair and listening to her laugh while they watched Mock The Week on Netflix.   
He braided her hair every day, eventually trekking to her home on the weekends to do it for her then.   
Every single day. With one exception.   
He had a dentist appointment in the 3rd of October and couldn't do her hair for her, high from the meds from his root canal.   
(Later, he would ask Not!Sasha when she took over and killed his Sasha. The woman who he called sister in his head. The creature grinned a grotesque grin, smelling his guilt like a shark to blood, and told him the date. The 3rd of October. He never, ever let's himself stop feeling guilty about it, and he braids his own hair in Sasha's ribbon.)  
(He doesn't know that he will soon build a collection of ribbons, when Tim's joins his hair after he is lost to him too.)  
\-----------------------  
Jon is not observant, for an archivist and someone who cannot let anything go. But finally, he notices that on the mugs that Martin brings him tea in, there are tiny little symbols drawn on them in marker.  
He recognises them as the symbols that had been woven into the ribbon Martin had braided his hair with (the Archivist flushes red when he remembers that, and how good Martin's fingers had felt against his scalp and braiding his hair).   
He isn't stupid, he knows they mean something and there is something about Martin that Tim and Sasha know that he doesn't, he approaches sometimes when they talk and they all shut down, and Sasha and Tim move so they are shielding Martin from him just slightly.   
He doesn't blame them, he is rude and bordering on cruel to Martin, even after he thought his heart would stop and shatter that time he saw Martin with a gashed up face from the box Tim knocked over.  
But he also knows, paranoid as he is, that it's not harmful for him.  
He starts to notice items of his clothing (scarves, gloves, a hoodie) vanishing sometimes but returning where he swore he already looked, stitched neatly with red thread with those same symbols.  
He never asks Martin about them, of course, but he notices how Martin is more at ease with every stitch and marking he allows to be given to him. He would rather die than take that one sense of security from the man he loves.

He is confused even more, when he has yet another encounter with Michael that give him a migraine, and Martin bursts in. His shy, sweet, anxious Martin looks a god of insanity in the eyes with venom and spits out what he thinks might be Gaelic - it makes the creature laugh and raise its eyebrows as if it was impressed by Martin, but it does leave, and Jon can relax and massage the ache from his temples.  
"What does what you said mean?" He asks later, when Martin silently brings him tea.   
"Hm?" Martin asks, and Jon tries to recreate the words on a clumsy tongue that cannot speak Gaelic.  
"Go ndéana an diabhal dréimire do chnámh do dhroma." He attempts, and the grin Martin gives him is sharp.  
(It really shouldn't make heat pool in his stomach, but holy fuck, it does.)  
"An old curse my grandmother taught me. 'That the Devil will make a ladder out of your spine'." Martin has a devious edge to his voice and it makes tingles run through his whole body. 

Fuck, he really needs to get a grip on this crush of his.   
\-----------------------  
The Lonely has always been drawn to witches. It sees the aching loneliness and desperate isolation that has filled them from years of being hunted like animals, and it loves them. It wants them as it's avatar, as its chess pieces. It wants to absorb their magic and become stronger and with every host, it does, pooling thick grey smoke around it's current host, filled with magic and misery gone by.   
Peter Lukas casts one look at Martin, sees the blue spark of magic that Martin himself cannot even see and the smoke that seeps from every inch of him, so much loneliness and sorrow and pain that he aches to absorb and teach Martin how to use.   
Martin is Lonely, and Peter knows that his thoughts melt into his God's when he thinks 'Him. I want him."   
Martin learns quickly under him, and his pain is less, and his control is great. He melts into shadow and feels nothing but the same cooling numbness that Peter feels.   
Except for when his protege lays eyes on the Archivist, his husband's little project. And he can't blame him. Because Peter can see why Martin's whole body and soul lights up like the Desolation had taken a hold of it when met with grey eyes that Know too much and See everything. After all, his has been married to Elias more times than he can count, he also has a weakness for those who Know.   
But then something changes, and Peter doesn't know what it is, but Martin is pushing Jon away and stepping willingly from the heat that used to have him like a moth to flame, into the cold icy feeling of The Lonely, and Peter feels something akin to both power and pride at Martin's strength.   
Martin's spells are stronger now, even if they lack emotion, they are made up for in the increase of intent. Less emotions to clutter up the spells.  
Peter feels a wave of fondness when he finds a small gift from the man on his birthday, and opens it to see a bone pendant along with a single lily.   
Its not a romantic gift, no, it is an omen and a warning and a thank you all at once, and he has chosen so right for which witch he chose to teach.   
\------------------------  
Jon is in his coma, and Martin allows himself one singular visit to the man he used to love (still loves, he knows somewhat, but the numbness of his fog drowns it out most of the time).   
He looks dead, cold and broken, and he hears the nurses say that they doubt he will wake, but his room is paid for indefinitely so they have to keep checking in on him. They mourn, thinking it is cruel to keep him like this. It is cruel, but not in the way they think.  
He says nothing, on this visit, he has no words lately, he is just silent and lonely and he does what is asked of him by Peter and absorbs the backwards praise and tries to keep the Lonely in him from letting him feel the longing.   
He pulls out the last ribbon, the red one he distantly remembers stitching with every single ounce of emotion he had, and he slowly braids it into his hair. It joins Sasha's purple, Tim's blue and his own green.  
It's a full collection now, and poisonous hatred tries to crack through the Lonely. He swallows it down, and pulls out a marker, making sure none of the nurses see. He tugs up Jon's sleeve and draws quickly, a sigil he makes with more ease than anything he's done in his life.   
He feels like the man his Granny had wanted him to be.   
The sigil that stands for "You Will Survive", and it looks beautiful contrasted in dark green ink on Jon's skin.   
He leaves without another word, and doesn't look back.  
\--------------  
Jon isn't dead, and he pulls Martin from The Lonely, and Martin shuts down.  
They're going to Daisy's cottage in Scotland, but he has a meltdown and refuses until he gets to go to his flat, even if it risks their lives.  
Jon goes with him, Martin's words echoing round his head ("I really loved you." Loved. Past tense. It hurts) and he realised that he had no idea what he had been expecting from Martin's home.   
He hears Georgie's voice whisper "cottagecore" in his head, and he doesn't disagree.   
It's well decorated and cosy, blankets across every surface like Martin gets cold alot (The Eye gives him a flash of Martin with the Lonely, how much he shook from a cold that was in his soul alone - Jon packs a few of the blankets to take with them). There is bundled of dried flowers hanging from doorways and giving the place a perpetual floral scent, and he sees those symbols he has missed so much etched into the wood of the doors.   
Martin hadn't let go of his hand since they left the Lonely, and the Eye tells him its because Martin still somewhat thinks this is a delusion. Martin leads him to his bedroom, and Jon has to swallow back a slight moan because holy shit, how long has he thought about being right here with Martin.  
(He scolds himself, get a fucking grip, you're both traumatised as shit and Martin doesn't love you anymore. You fucked it up.)  
Martin let's go, and he pulls out another bag, and he starts packing notebooks into it, along with a box that held every colour thread known to man, and a small wooden box that he could smell lavender and sage from from where he stood in the doorway, watching.   
(Always watching.)  
He watched Martin pile clothes into the bag he had originally, then watched him pull out a set of sharp looking ornamental knives. The glint in the light and for a second, holding them, Jon sees the fierce Martin who had essentially told an insanity god to get fucked.  
They are packed away, along with a pile of things he can't identify. Then a tin of tea, and they are done.  
"Ready?" Martin asks, catching his hand again, and Jon nods. He looks at Martin, and he feels an ache in his heart that won't go away when he catches sight of bright colours.  
He reaches up, brushes the curls that cover the braids away, and his heart seizes.  
Purple, like he remember Sasha beaming and showing off to anyone who would listen (he once called Martin brother, he wonders if he knows that).  
Deep blue for Tim, he remembers Tim being more shy about it, running his fingers across silken blue as if he couldn't believe Martin thought he was special enough to make him a ribbon of his own.   
Crimson. Blood red. His ribbon, he remembers, and that braid is the most elaborate and the messiest all at once. It looks like it's been clawed at, and The Eye tells him that Martin survived as long as he did in The Lonely because the ribbon was a link to Jon, a link to him that kept the man sane.  
Jon loves him so dearly in that moment, but also hurts because he caused all of this.   
How on Earth can he ever make up for this?  
\----------------  
The first thing Martin does when they reach the cottage is pull out a wicked sharp knife and start carving into the wood in every doorway.   
Jon almost protests, but he sees how Martin relaxes with every stroke of devil-sharp blade into oak wood, and stays silent.   
Martin's comfort is worth more than Daisy's house, as rude and ungrateful as it sounds (he doesn't mean it that way).  
They unpack once Martin is done, and Martin keeps checking that Jon is close if they stray from one another too far. He makes them tea from the tin he had brought (it smells divine and tastes even better, and Martin's lips twitch ever so slightly when Jon almost begs to know what kind it is), and then they curl on the sofa, wrapped in blankets with the fire roaring before them.  
Only their hands are touching, fingers entwined and they feel relaxed for the first time since Martin was pulled from The Lonely two days ago.   
"Its not just past tense, you know." Martin says suddenly, and Jon looks up from his book to where Martin is scribbling in the thickest leather bound book he has ever seen, angled away from him.   
"What?" Jon asks, and Martin turns to him with a smile that Jon had missed like he would miss a limb.   
"I love you. Not past tense. It's just different now, I loved you like a human being loves before, now I love you as something else." Martin tells him, and Jon feels hope rise in him like a sunrise, and Martin deems him worthy of another slightly crooked smile.   
"You're still human, Martin." Jon says, trying to comfort, but Martin laughs and shakes his head.  
"No, I'm not Jon. Maybe I never was." He says, and he settles down, telling Jon what he had told Sasha and Tim so long ago, and watching the man soak it all up. He tells the Archivist of the things he has learned from Peter, of how The Lonely has a preference and how that preference is Witches like him.   
Witches are real, he assures Jon. Jon Looks at Martin, and sees that crackling blue aura, and he believes him. The Eye hums inside him, flutters like a moth, and Jon thinks that means that it likes Martin as much as he does.   
Martin kisses him, once Jon says he loves him too, and that kiss is deep and perfect, and makes goosebumps rise over them both. Martin tastes sweet, like something he can't name but feels familiar, and he can't get enough. So he keeps kissing him, and kissing him, until their lips are bruised and they are panting.   
Martin pulls away, cheeks flushed and pupils wide.   
"Jon, stop." He says, and Jon freezes, worried he had hurt the man.   
"We aren't doing any more today. We're both touch starved and damaged and looking for absolution and I refuse to take advantage of you. Also, I know you're on the ace spectrum, so I am going to want to talk about that before we attempt doing anything else. I don't want to hurt you or push you." Martin explains, and Jon thinks his heart has swollen triple the size.  
Martin, sweet Martin.   
He's right, of course, and they do need to discuss it, but it doesnt stop Jon from pouting, and Martin laughs at him. He tugs on his lower lip playfully, and Jon gives a mock affronted gasp.  
It's silly and perfect and peaceful, and they fall asleep that night under a mountain of blankets, and curled together like they should have been this whole time.


End file.
